


nocturnal

by witchertrashbag (intothegarbagechute)



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sub Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Trans Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:27:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29886633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intothegarbagechute/pseuds/witchertrashbag
Summary: Geralt and Regis are having a quiet night in, and Geralt has some additional requests for the evening's events. This is pure PWP.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy
Comments: 3
Kudos: 31





	nocturnal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ReinventAndBelieve](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReinventAndBelieve/gifts).



> **content warnings:** Geralt is trans; he's described as having a little cock and slick, no other descriptions, no humiliation, kink or otherwise.
> 
> Regis is biologically more dead? He doesn't really feel arousal anymore and can't get hard because he's a corpse, so there's a vague necrophilic element with that, but he is also a highly intelligent sentient being consenting to sex.
> 
> Sex acts include: spanking, fingering, cocksucking, anal sex. A mild D/s relationship; Regis is a prissy dom, Geralt is a needy sub.

Regis didn’t realize quite how late the hour had gotten, slowly turning from one vellum page to the next, softly reading the treatise he’d recovered on the alchemy of southern sorcerer sects. No, not until he felt Geralt’s head, heretofore utterly contented on his lap, now turn, and begin to nuzzle between his legs.

“Ah. Have I lost your attention?”

“Not quite,” Geralt mumbled, nosing along Regis’s long-dead cock, and glancing up at him from beneath his eyelashes. He always did think he looked so fetching like this. Unfortunately he was correct.

“But I haven’t finished the chapter, dear.”

“Finish it later?” Geralt asked, letting his pink lips fall into an insouciant pout.

If Regis needed to breathe, he would’ve sucked in a breath right there. As it was, he had the space to think. Assess Geralt as his would-be prey. Not a wholly unfitting metaphor. Regis grinned, allowing his lips to expose his canines.

“You’re being rather naughty, Geralt. I think I ought to do something about it.”

Geralt stopped his nuzzling and sat up, intrigued. They had played many kinds of games together before, and Regis had just the thing in mind to capture a fidgety witcher’s attention.

“What do you mean?”

“Lay over my lap, darling. Lay over my lap before I drag you there by the collar.”

He could see the swoop of dazed pleasure cross Geralt’s expression at his words— he was so easy to read when he was needy like this— before he plopped across Regis’s lap, his broad chest across one thigh and his hips settled on the other.

“What are you going to do to me, old man?” he asked with a smirk.

“Oh, my dear,” he said adoringly. He grabbed the waist of Geralt’s trousers and yanked them off his hips, down his hairy, muscled thighs. He lightly dragged his long fingernails up Geralt’s skin, sending shivers up his spine. “I need to…”

He SMACKed his hand hard across the meat of Geralt’s rear, earning a little gasp.

“ _Teach_ you…”

Another SMACK and Geralt let out a little groan.

“To _pay attention_ …”

SMACK! The lovely blood was rushing to Geralt’s pale ass, and he gave it a rub.

“And to _respect_ …”

Another SMACK and Geralt hissed— Regis was using all his strength, after all.

“Your elders.”

SMACK! Geralt let out a soft cry at the fifth blow to the same place, not even embarrassed at how little he’d tried to withhold his reaction.

“Do you think the message has sunken in?” Regis asked sweetly, rubbing Geralt’s red ass. Geralt hummed and nodded with a smile, and Regis slipped his fingers lower, between Geralt’s legs, and discovered how wet he’d become. Geralt buried his face in his arms and moaned.

“Good heavens,” Regis drawled on. “What a mess you’ve made of yourself already, my dear. Just from this?”

Geralt nodded his head in his arms, and Regis rubbed against him more insistently, earning a deeper, more needy moan. He teased him like this with soft rubs, enjoying the feeling of the heavy, dangerous man come so easily undone, until he began squirming.

“Well, well. On your knees and clean me off and we’ll see what to do with you.”

In a moment Geralt was on his knees, not bothering or daring to pull his trousers up, leaving himself exposed, and offered his open mouth for Regis’s fingers. He licked his own slick off eagerly, and Regis shook his head.

“ _Tsk, tsk, tsk._ You want to be good tonight, dear?”

Geralt mumbled his assent as best he could.

“You are so eager, I suppose I could let you…”

“Yes— please let me—“ Geralt continued and bent forward, practically _dove_ forward, to unlace Regis’s trousers and draw out his cock. It hung, limply, as it had for the last few hundred years, but Regis watched, fondly, as Geralt looked up at him for permission before ardently setting his mouth to the tip and sucking. He could feel next to nothing of Geralt’s dedicated ministrations, no— nearly the entirety of his pleasure was derived from how wholly Geralt threw himself to the task of swallowing his cock. How visibly the feeling of fullness in his mouth pleased him.

Regis tilted Geralt’s head and slid the thing down his throat, enjoying seeing the whites of his eyes as they widened, the dazed look on his face that followed, hearing the little gasping, choking noises he made. He could practically watch his blood slow in his veins, could almost hear it, and eventually pulled back, leaving Geralt sucking in sharp breaths, his cheeks red with effort.

“ _Very_ good, my dear.”

Geralt sat back on his heels, heedless of his trousers still exposing him fully, his slack jaw slipping drool onto his linen shirt. No, that wouldn’t do.

“Let’s get you out of these things, shall we?”

Geralt made a little grunt and surged forward, desperate for another taste, and firmly pressed Regis’s hips to the chaise upon which he sat. Before he could get his mouth in place—

“Oh no, this won’t do at all. You’re far too messy, Geralt.”

Regis stood, effortlessly breaking out of Geralt’s hold, sending him back on his heels and leaving a shocked little look on his grouchy, scarred face. Regis refastened his trousers to accentuate his point.

“If you won’t go on your own, I shall have to take you,” he said, and hoisted the witcher over his shoulder. He smirked at the soft gasp of pleasure Geralt released— he knew he loved the surprise of being manhandled like this, and although it wasn’t normally Regis’s preference, he could tell the situation called for it.

He tossed Geralt onto the nearby bed, sliding his trousers fully off his legs, then his shirt, and gazed upon him. For as long as Regis had been alive, and the even longer time he’d been dead, he’d seldom seen a sight more glorious than Geralt’s nasty toes, the long hair that covered his muscled, bony legs, his sturdy torso scraped with scar tissue, and, of course, his little cock, flushed and aching and slick.

“Do you trust me?” he asked Geralt; half-teasing, and yet half of him never could.

Geralt leaned up and kissed him. “Of course. Old man,” he added with a smirk.

Regis smiled again, purposefully barring the sharp fangs in his mouth, then leaned forward very, very slowly, and took Geralt’s cock into his mouth. Geralt bit his lips, stifling a moan, his legs tensed, his fingers clenching at the feeling as Regis suckled at him slowly, torturously teasing him until he was making little needy begging sounds.

“There, there we are,” Regis said, rising again to his feet. “So flushed and desperate.”

“Regis.”

“Geralt you’ve been so very good tonight,” Regis said, unfastening his own shirt.

“Please, I need…” but Geralt stopped his request short, as Regis unbuckled his belt, and let it and his trousers fall to his ankles. He caressed Geralt’s cheek, careful not to scratch him.

“I’m going to let you fuck me, dear,” he said, and gave his face a little slap. “Yes? Good.”

“Fuck.”

Regis shifted on the bed, hugging a large pillow as he settled on his stomach. Geralt parted his cheeks and hesitated before Regis heard him touch himself, felt a slick-wet finger press against his asshole. Regis chuckled.

“Do get on with your ravishing, Geralt.”

It wasn’t long before he could accommodate Geralt’s intrusion, and wished he could see him. He imagined his face was screwed up with concentration, with pleasure, as he thrust into him for the first time. He felt his gasp of breath across his back, warm and wet. He could hear his arousal, the blood rushing in his veins as he thrust into him again and again.

“Harder,” Regis asked with a smile, knowing he’d be only too eager to comply, to fuck into him thoroughly, letting himself become a way he wouldn’t with anyone else. A being of pure instinct and need. A predator and prey, though at this point Regis was loath to decide who was who. He felt an unexpected stir in his cock, some baser, vestigial pressure nudging within him, and let him self moan.

Geralt came at the sound, grunting and thrusting into him rather wantonly.

“Oh _fuck_ , Regis, I—“

“That’s a good boy, my dear,” Regis said, turning and holding the breathless Geralt to his chest.

“Did you…? For a second I thought…”

“It felt wonderful.”

“I’m glad. I’m so glad. Thank you. Thank you for letting me—”

“Anything for you, my love.”


End file.
